


we were too young to know we had everything

by heavensfallingaroundus



Series: don't you hear me howling, babe? [1]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Game of Thrones RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, The Eternals RPF
Genre: Alternate universe where Kit is divorced, Beach Sex, But also, Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Reunion, Sex, Trailers, a truly idyllic setting, so much love, so much sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:28:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22679473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensfallingaroundus/pseuds/heavensfallingaroundus
Summary: Come to set, Richard texts him one November morning, as he’s grinding the beans for his morning coffee. He smiles down at the phone, closes his eyes, and indulges himself picturing what that could look like.
Relationships: Kit Harington/Richard Madden
Series: don't you hear me howling, babe? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1631494
Comments: 15
Kudos: 39





	we were too young to know we had everything

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, lovely people. Coming at you with the lastest in a string of ideas I've had about these two, which is the only one I actually managed to successfully complete and organise well enough on a page to be (possibly) worth your precious time.
> 
> Having followed the Eternals multiple casting announcements and subsequent shooting quite keenly, I got completely lost in the idea of Kit and Richard reuniting, being on the same set for the first time, being so damn happy to be together, etc. This turned into me actively looking for fic on the two of them, and finding a couple of masterpieces:  
> \- [Minka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minka/pseuds/Minka)'s incredible Scottish journey, [Cars, Phones and Global Positioning Satellites](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1564121)  
> \- [sleeponrooftops](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeponrooftops/pseuds/sleeponrooftops)'s absolutely _masterful_ series, [we're living louder](https://archiveofourown.org/series/27981)  
> this work is dedicated to them, for effectively lighting the blue-touch paper and making me want to write about these two. I hope I didn't disappoint. In any case, I'm not worthy. *bows to you both*
> 
> Thanks to my lovely friend [phoenix_rose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mordwen/pseuds/phoenix_rose) for a speedy beta and for being way too kind and supportive about my writing in general. ❤

**November 2019**

_Come to set_ , Richard texts him one morning, as he’s grinding the beans for his morning coffee. He smiles down at the phone, closes his eyes, and indulges himself picturing what that could look like.

Warm weather, white sand, pink sunsets.

Driving a convertible or, better yet, a Jeep Wrangler with the top off.

Wind in his hair, sun on his skin.

Endless nights in trailers.

Salty kisses.

Ugh, get a fucking grip.

Another text comes in. _Come see me. Please, Kit, please._

 **_Would that I could_** , he types in. He hits _send_ and sighs loudly. An unpleasant and very familiar feeling in his stomach captures his attention for a brief moment, but he successfully represses it and goes back to his coffee. Double espresso, today. He needs it. Thank God Rose said he could keep the damn machine when she left.

_You can. I checked with Jeanie and she says you’ve got absolutely nothing going on until Christmas._

Damn his PA for speaking to Richard Madden behind his back. What else have they been plotting, he wonders.

**_Jeanie needs to understand who she works for._ **

He presses the button on the coffee machine again to get the second shot into his cup.

_We have always been entirely interchangeable, Snow ;)_

_Also, please_ — _I can see how whiny you’re being in the chat about not being called to set in Fuerteventura. I suspect that Maisie and Soph are this close to starting a side-group without you._

He sends a middle finger emoji back—even though Richard absolutely does have a point. He’s been insufferable underneath every picture Richard sent. _Marvel hates me_ ; _Why am I the only moron who’s stuck in London when you’re busy tanning your smug Scottish arse?_ ; _Who do I have to blow to get a week there too?_ —to which Maisie naturally replied _Richard, of course_ , and Sophie reiterated with a giant _DUH_ , and… Ah. The absolute brats.

Richard also has a point about his agenda being completely and utterly blank for the next few weeks. He _could_. But—

**_Where the hell would I even stay? Aren’t you in the middle of the desert?_ **

Richard’s reply comes in almost immediately. _We are. Trailer’s huge, though. I think they overestimated the amount of muscle I could put on in such a short amount of time._

That makes him laugh at first. Then, he considers the implications and… Mh. Fuck.

 _Point being: there definitely is room for you. Plus, you don’t take up too much space—although your multiple suitcases might_ , Richard’s second text explicates.

Kit decides to ignore the diss at his ancient struggle with overpacking, and types in **_And how would that even look?_** His thumb then hovers over the _send_ button for ten full seconds, before he changes his mind and hits backspace until no more words are left in the conversation box. 

**_One bed?_ **, he sends out instead. As if it was a better idea.

_Of course. But if you can’t stand me, you can take the couch._

**_I think I’ll be alright—as long as you don’t steal the covers_**. Nothing they haven’t done before, anyways. It’s just been, what, seven years? No big fucking deal. At all.

_Too hot for covers ;)_

_Check your inbox_

He closes iMessage and opens his email app. It’s Jeanie. A forwarded booking confirmation. Flight from Gatwick to Fuerteventura, tomorrow morning at the ass-crack of dawn.

 _easyJet_. His spoiled arse hasn’t flown easyJet in _years_.

**_You’re a cheap bastard, Stark_ **

_I love you too. Wear a disguise, stay safe. See you tomorrow, Snow._

***

The flight is charter, but the welcome is VIP. He’s let off the plane first, he gets a golf cart ride to a private arrivals gate—which he didn’t even think would be a thing, but the world never ceases to amaze him, it seems—and he’s escorted to the door by a mountain of a man who has _Marvel_ written all over him. Sliding doors open to reveal three official-looking people—drivers, he believes, probably there to pick up important people—and one bright-eyed bloke wearing a hoodie, open to the middle of his chest, nothing below but tanned skin and hair and infinite muscles, _Jesus Christ_ , and some extremely tight-fitting grey trackies, holding up a sign that says _the King in the North_. Smiling, like the fucking lunatic he is.

Kit’s stomach does a dozen backflips as he all but drops his overnight bag and lets Richard wrap his arms around him, and a whirlwind of different sensations hit him at once. The most overwhelming of them all, as expected, is the girth, the strength—the _sturdiness_ of Richard, enveloping him completely. Steadying him, holding him in place.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Richard whispers, thick and accented.

“I’ve missed you too, mate.”

***

Richard is _actually_ driving a fucking Jeep Wrangler with the top off, and that does nothing to calm the butterflies fluttering around in Kit’s stomach.

Kit watches him as he drives. He looks comfortable, almost nonchalant, as he changes the gears with the wrong hand and steers the wheel to get them from one straight desert road to the other. He doesn’t speak much. He’s concentrating, and he’s absolutely magnificent.

“I really wasn’t expecting _you_ to come pick me up,” Kit says at some point, feeling like he has to break the silence.

Richard tilts his head slightly. Their eyes meet for a split-second, and a half smile appears on his face. “Oh, I’m sorry, Snow,” he says, chuckling. “Would you have preferred someone else?”

“I just meant…”

“Gemma, maybe? She just _won’t_ stop going on about you. I think she’s happy she gets to smooch you, in a couple of weeks.”

“ _Richard_.”

“Oh, no, no, I know— _Angelina_ , right?”

“Kindly fuck off, will you not? I just meant, I thought you were here to _work_ —but apparently Marvel gives half-days off just like that, huh?”

“Honestly, Kit,” Richard says, shaking his head while his eyes are planted on the road ahead. “You really thought I would have begged you to fly out if I hadn’t had any time off? Would’a been quite dickish of me to have you come all this way and ask you to wait around in my trailer all day.”

“Time off? You really did negotiate that contract well,” Kit replies, appreciatively. “How long?”

“Three full days. And I couldn’t think of anyone better than my favourite posh, sad-eyed, and secretly hilarious London boy to spend them with.”

“Extremely gracious of you. Admittedly, this is the furthest I’ve ever been for a booty call, so I really do appreciate you, y’know— _taking the time_.”

A bit too brazen, perhaps. Maybe he shouldn’t have said it. Not so soon, anyways. Been a while since—

“You’re very welcome,” Richard replies, raising an eyebrow, as he pulls into an improvised lot near to the trailer park.

***

Richard is pinning him to the door of his trailer, and everything is right in the world.

“ _Booty call_ , eh?” he growls, not-so-gently tugging at the skin on Kit’s neck with his teeth.

“Hmm-hmm,” Kit hums contently. “Don’t even try to deny it. I…” he interrupts himself as Richard nips at his earlobe, and his tongue follows. “I know you, Rich. Whenever you get any kind of time off, all you want to do is smoke, drink and fuck.”

“Guilty as charged,” Richard says, low and gravelly, directly in his ear. Kit shudders as Richard brings his wrists further up, pressing him harder against the door, trapping him completely. 

He just starts writhing against Richard’s touch, then—not really wanting to accomplish anything other than revving Richard up. Richard will never admit it to anyone, but he thoroughly enjoys it. Being in control. The _power_ of it. Plus, Kit couldn’t go anywhere if he wanted to. Richard’s—

“So fucking strong, damn you. _I_ used to be the one with muscles. Making me feel inadequate.”

Richard just laughs at that, suddenly gentle, moving up from Kit’s neck to his jaw, leaving a trail of small kisses in his wake. “You’re perfect, love. Always have been.” At that, he lets go of one of Kit’s wrists and cups one of his pecs, then moves further down to claw at his abs as he brings their lips together once again. He smiles into the kiss, as the hand swiftly moves underneath Kit’s shirt. Kit involuntarily, instinctively contracts, and Richard’s smile widens, an air of _I knew it_ in his eyes. “Kept _these_ up, as far as I can tell. Fecking Greek god.”

“Oh, shut up,” Kit says, kissing Richard again and instinctively arching up into his touch, desperately trying to keep it together as the praise makes him even harder, and Richard’s hand moves further down. It lingers on the waistband of the comfy tracksuit bottoms he chose for the flight, pulling at it, fingers running right and left—pure torture.

Kit whimpers, careless, needy, moaning into Richard’s mouth and thrusting his hips forward, looking for more contact. “Please, Richard,” he breathes, in-between kisses. “Please, it’s been _so long_.”

Richard stops kissing him and looks at him intensely, scrutinising his soul—deep blue eyes darkened and full of lust. He bites down on his lower lip, and just nods. “Yes, love. _Yes_.”

He starts kissing down Kit’s body, through the light fabric of his T-shirt, until he gets low enough to effectively drop to his knees. Kit feels himself burning up—from the heat inside the trailer, but also and most likely from the crippling arousal rushing through his body—and he needs the shirt off immediately. When he emerges out of it and looks down again, he’s confronted with the most beautiful sight he’s had his eyes on in a hot minute. Richard Madden, kneeling before him, wide-eyed and aroused, pink, kiss-swollen lips parted and eager. It’s almost too good to be true.

***

Kit comes twice before they even get to the bed.

The first time, Richard barely even touches him. He’s just there, on his knees, running hungry hands and feather-light fingertips over Kit’s thighs and hips and abs and nipples, pinching slightly, humming, praising him. Telling him how beautiful he is. How long he’s wanted to do this. How lonely this giant trailer has been for the past few weeks, and who he thought about while he was alone in the shower or in his bed. How he’s fantasised about opening Kit up for hours and making him come completely undone with his tongue before anything else happens. How he would like to fuck him from behind, slow and deep, and maybe choke him with his biceps while he’s at it.

The latter—coupled with the long stripe that Richard licks from the base of Kit’s cock to the tip—is enough to make him explode. He cries out, lets the back of his head hit the door, and stains Richard’s pretty face with streaks of come, painting it messy white.

The second time, Richard bends him over his kitchen table, strips him of his boxers, and eats him out like it’s nobody’s business. Kit’s overstimulated and still coming down from a high, and yet... He feels like a hot mess, but that’s how things with Richard have always been—fast, effective, never boring. It’s like they’re twenty-three all over again.

Richard doesn’t speak or make much noise at all. He just takes his sweet time, licks him open, fucks him with his tongue—then he adds a couple of fingers, curls them up, and sends him over the edge once more.

When they do get to the bed, Kit is so spent he could actually cry.

“Gods, Richard,” he whines, as Richard crash-lands on the mattress next to him. He’s still fully clothed. Which, you know, is just _rude_. “Give a man a break.”

Richard pulls him in, grinning, and claims his mouth, soft but demanding. “I gave you seven years, Snow. Now, I’m taking you back,” he whispers, breath hovering on Kit’s lips. He then moves away the tiniest bit, locks their eyes together, raises an inquiring eyebrow. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

Kit giggles as he kisses Richard again. “You know what I used to say. About us, I mean.”

“ _Us_ us, or Jon and Robb?”

“Well, yeah. Jon and Robb. But it was always about us, really.”

“That you’d follow me to the ends of the Earth?”

“Mmmh,” Kit hums, grinning broadly as he presses their lips together and tastes himself on Richard’s, letting that particular bit of knowledge blow his mind. “That definitely still stands.”

“Kinda gave yourself away by flying all the way down here, I s’pose.”

“Fuck off, Stark,” Kit says, playfully punching Richard’s shoulder. Richard makes a face that plainly asks _is that the best you can do?_

“You fuck off, you big old sap,” Richard retorts, grabbing Kit’s wrist and turning his hand over, gently. He kisses the back of it. The fucking smooth bastard. “I’m so happy you’re here, Kit,” he says, interlocking their fingers. “I have missed you, you know.”

Kit nods against his lips as they kiss again and again. “I know.”

***

Richard asks, and Kit just says yes. By the time he finally gets to ride Richard, feeling him harden inside as he thrusts—slow and deliberate at first, deep and desperate a few minutes in—he’s breathless and his buttocks are red and raw.

It’s like being yanked back in time. Richard always had a thing for Kit’s butt. Loved it when Kit spontaneously used to sit in his lap on lazy and frankly fucking freezing Belfast evenings, grinding against him. Clothed or naked, didn’t really matter—although they did end up naked, most of the time, and Kit ended up pushing Richard on the couch, straddling him and demanding to be spanked and fucked, _hard, please_. It was their favourite way to spend time, back in the day. Lord knows why they ever stopped.

Somehow, after all that, Kit finds the strength not to collapse in a heap of limbs and sweat and come, but instead picks himself up and drags Richard into the shower with him. It’s small, but they make do. Pressed together, feeling every inch of each other’s skin, inhaling the peppermint shower gel deeply and feeling its cooling effect all over, maybe grinding against each other a bit, for old times’ sake, and—

No, impossible. Not again, surely? Not so soon?

Oh, yes, he is. They’re too close for it to just be in Kit’s head.

“Rich, you’re…”

_Hard. Again._

“I’ve wanted you for so long, love,” Richard replies, a very much nonapologetic look on his face. “Might be getting a tad greedy—fuck, would you just _look_ at this,” he says, roughly flipping Kit over and smacking his right buttock with a firm hand. The sound is loud and wet, almost too obscene for words.

Kit leans back, resting his head on Richard’s shoulder, and he lets Richard plant a kiss in the crook of his neck, that quickly turns into him biting and sucking, and then lapping at the water that is still trickling down both their bodies, gently rocking his hips back and forth, pressing into the small of his back, making him _feel_ —

“I don’t think I can take any m… oh, _fuck_ …” The words all but die in Kit’s mouth as Richard slips his right hand along his waist, coming up to the front and closing around his cock.

Alright. Maybe just once more.

***

They spend all afternoon in bed, chatting and smoking and kissing and turning each other on like they haven’t been on a weird self-imposed hiatus for seven bloody years. They sweat, they shower, and then they sweat again, the thirst for each other unquenchable and simply impossible to ignore. Even when they do fall asleep, naked and spent, they’re pressed against each other, fingers entangled and bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces.

When Kit opens his eyes again, the colour of the light coming from the small trailer windows informs him that it must be the very late afternoon. Richard confirms it by emerging from the bathroom looking all groomed and perfect, hair spruced up and some kind of delicate woody cologne swimming around him, and telling him to put on some trunks and sunnies, because they’re going out.

He drives them to a small beach some twenty minutes away from where they’re filming. Turns out that he’s also brought ice-cold Prosecco and the biggest strawberries Kit’s ever seen in his life, and towels to lounge on—and he presents each item to Kit, producing them from his backpack with an increasingly prouder smirk on his face.

“Are you wooing me, Stark?” Kit asks, leaning in and slightly shifting his weight upon his tiptoes to peck Richard’s lips.

“How’m I doing, gorgeous?” Richard replies, looking positively giddy.

The sun is right about to set and the sky is pink and orange and blood red in the distance, and Kit suddenly really wishes he’d packed his good camera.

“Pretty fucking amazing, I must say,” he says, looking up at Richard and moving one unruly curl out of his face, combing it backward with his fingers. This takes him back massively, too.

They get drunk. The corners of Richard’s lips are stained red from the strawberries and his eyes are even bluer than usual in the peach-coloured backdrop of the subtropical island, and he’s so beautiful it almost _hurts_ —there’s an honest-to-God ache in Kit’s chest when he takes in every inch of his face. Heartache for all the longing he’s done over the years, painful memories of his failed marriage resurfacing at every bat of Richard’s eyelashes, but also the renewed confidence that maybe getting a divorce was the right thing to do, after all, because nothing he’s felt for anyone else was ever as real as it was with Richard.

Back in the day when they used to sneak around, back when Kit used to feel bad about being the _other_ _someone_ , back when Richard was young and careless—like it kind of feels he still is, to be honest—back then, one cold, rainy day on set, when they were still wearing those ridiculous furs that smelled like death, Kit told Richard he loved him, and Richard said it back.

Almost immediately after, it feels, he lost Richard to women and circumstances. He cried and he cried until he fell into another Scot’s embrace—this one kissed by fire and very much female, and he thought she was _the one_ , and he thought maybe he’d made a mistake when he’d assumed Richard could have been instead. He did the whole thing properly. Quit smoking because she didn’t like it, wrote her poems, bought her thoughtful gifts, books, trips, and even a solitaire, one day—and then their parents bought a space in _The Times_ to announce it, and then it was a _thing_ for real, and it got very fucking scary.

But the day came, and with it Richard in aviators sunglasses and a kilt—the outfit Kit was offered, too, but that he refused, to step out looking like a glorified hobbit instead—and it was quite difficult to concentrate on literally anyone else on the day, what was supposed to be the happiest day of his life, and instead he spent it gnawing at the inside of his cheek and uttering a weaker _yes_ than he’d anticipated, while he felt Richard’s eyes on him from where the wedding party were seated.

When it was clear it wouldn’t last, Kit waited for Richard. For another window, another shot at happiness, another hug or even just a glance across a crowded room—but Richard seemed to always be oceans away and in increasingly younger partners’ arms, so it never really worked out. 

He even seemed to have landed a good one, for a while. A sweet, sweet man, whom Kit knew a while back and adored working with. There was never anything official, but the Stark groupchat knew all about it. On-set romance, he’d said. _Who’s the lucky lady?_ , Sophie had texted. _It’s actually a boy_ , Richard had replied—and Kit’s heart had simultaneously swelled up and broken all over again. For Richard, it had never really been about being scared of that side of himself, then—it was simply not meant to be between _them_. Which, well, fair enough, were it not for the fact that pining over Richard had cost him his wife and a lot of peoples’ respect. But whatever, eh?

Richard proceeded to fuck the whole thing up by moving to LA and bunking up with yet another boy, then going back and forth between him and the one from the movie. Kit actually cursed out loud at his phone every time he saw pap shoots and red carpet kisses and smitten looks and read something about a certain San Diego Comic Con party and then a trip to the South of Italy—and what in the _world_ was even going on by that point, no-one could tell. Not even the people in the side-chat about Richard that Maisie had created one day when it all got too much. No-one had a single fucking clue.

And then, _Eternals_ rolled around and Richard seemed to say goodbye to the universe altogether. News of a break-up, gym selfies at four in the morning, and then radio fucking silence, until that blasted text yesterday morning. 

Kit definitely realises he definitely just thoughtlessly jumped back in head first, and that maybe he should have thought about it more, but he was frankly way too goddamn tired of overthinking every aspect of their friendship, relationship, what the fuck can one even call it by this point?—and, especially, tired of _waiting_.

Which is why it feels especially weird—a complete and utter mindfuck, actually—that they are currently lying on beach towels watching the sun go down together and acting like absolutely nothing has happened. After all that time and pain, those eyes Kit first saw ten whole years ago are back looking at him.

“What is this, Rich?” he hears himself ask.

“What is—what?”

“This. Here, now.” _Me and you, here together_. “Us. This.”

Richard smiles and crawls closer, brushing away a few grains of white sand from his own towel as he does so. He caresses Kit’s cheek with the back of his hand, and gives him a sweet smile. “Whatever you want this to be,” Richard replies. “I’m free. _We_ ’re…” he interrupts himself, raising an eyebrow, looking for confirmation.

“Yes,” Kit cuts him off. “Yes, we’re free.” _I just want you, Richard. I’ve waited so goddamn long for this._

They let the sun set completely while they get lost in each other, going for a dip in the ocean and stealing strawberry kisses and bites and each other’s oxygen—and then Kit wraps his arms and legs around Richard and lets him in once again, the tingle of stubble on his neck and the light friction of salty skin on salty skin, and he tries to keep quiet but can’t, as they rock together in the dim light of dusk.

They reunited less than twenty-four hours ago—and yet, halfway through, when Richard’s thrusts slow down, and in-between loud, throaty moans, he says it. He doesn’t know whether it is the Prosecco, the slight jet-lag and general sleep deprivation, the dreamy setting, or simply the endless longing he’s tortured himself with for the past three years or so, but it just sort of comes out. They did say it once before. Five times, actually, if he’s not mistaken. Not _exactly_ news, then, is it?

“Always have, always will,” he adds, then, to stress his point, and Richard’s eyes widen in what looks like surprise, but probably is just a sort of possessive elatedness.

“I love you too,” Richard replies, trying and failing to stifle a grunt of strain when he plunges in again, deeper than before, effectively erasing all doubt from Kit’s mind, every last drop of fear washed away by the incessant sound of waves.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you lovely folks enjoyed this!  
> Since I'm anticipating that the upcoming promo tour for _Eternals_ will bring about many happy moments for our little shipper hearts, and since I've already started working on a sequel, I'm making this a series.  
> Thank you in advance if you choose to leave kudos or drop me a comment! ❤  
> See you very soon,  
> C x


End file.
